


Ars Moriendi

by Caillieach



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt but no comfort, Lost in Wars Zine, Scourge, World of Ruin, canon character death, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27584035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caillieach/pseuds/Caillieach
Summary: "Don't." Dino interrupts the other man, the tightness in his voice betraying the lump in his throat. He does not want pity, it won't change anything, for Astrals' sake. "You’ll get your accessories. Send someone in...let's say five days. They'll find a box next to the gas pump."They say dying is an art, but with his body slowly falling apart, Dino cannot find the admittedly morbid poetry in it he once did.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14
Collections: Lost in Wars - A FFXV World of Ruin Zine





	Ars Moriendi

**Author's Note:**

> This is my constribution to Lost in Wars, a World of Ruin zine. Thank you for giving me the chance to contribute to this project!
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Disclaimer:**
> 
> _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners, here: Square Enix. Any possible future original characters & plots are my own. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not earn money with this._
> 
> * * *
> 
> Edited by the wonderful [MeinNameIstJette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeinNameIstJette) and [Octomerls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octomerls/pseuds/Octomerls) . Thank you both! ♥
> 
> * * *

A black, velvet darkness covers everything like an unconventional burial shroud. The quay, the ocean, once routinely bathed in the brightest sunlight sparkling on the water causing guests and inhabitants alike to squint their eyes, lay dark and abandoned now. Desolate. Playful children’s laughter naught but a wistful memory already fraying around the edges.

Dino cannot remember the last time he felt the warmth of sunlight on his skin. It must have been a while but a sense of time was one of the first things to go in this new world. Feeling warm became rare since most of their electricity is used for the daemon-repelling lights now and gathering firewood became too dangerous to do often. Except for the stolen moments in his makeshift workshop he built in a corner of what became _his_ hotel room years ago, the cold has become his constant companion. A life in perpetual darkness is not what he imagined for himself. Or the world. But he has not imagined a great many things for himself and look where that got him.

The brass hammer clatters onto the countertop as he sets it aside to wipe the sweat and stray hairs out of his eyes, more out of habit than a real need nowadays. His fine motor skills used to be better, once enabling him to craft the finest and most beautiful protective jewellery this side of Lestallum, but these days, his motions grow more erratic every day. How long has it been now? Eighteen days? Nineteen? Dino frowns down at the slightly uneven setting holding the blue diamond he had not bothered cutting more than necessary. He does not have much time left to finish his current piece.

Seven years in this terrible, dark imitation of the Galdin Quay he once loved so much, seven years of surviving by the skin of his teeth, of offering shelter to those trying to reach Lestallum’s relative safety and now this? Coctura had been the obvious choice back then, she knew the Quay like the back of her hand. Dino had just stayed out of...what? A misguided sense of responsibility? Of wanting to prove to everyone that he was not as bad as his reputation? Honestly, he is not sure. It seemed simple, back then. Not having to up and move. The Quay had been safe enough, and it was his _home_. Still is, although not for much longer.

Dino huffs a throaty laugh, the sound catching slightly in his dry as parchment throat. Hindsight was always 20/20, wasn’t it?

His fingers won’t quite curl around the delicate diamond needle file’s grip anymore, a little stiff and not as dextrous as a week ago. They are swollen, skin flecked an angry red and pasty white with a grayish hue underneath as a subtle testament to the sludge now flowing through his veins. His body feels...too small for his skin now - like a cage. It has been a little over a week since his bones and tendons started hurting, a deep ache born from an unreal, inexplicable pressure. As if they were on the brink of breaking every time he so much as brought the brass hammer down on the red-hot metal with a little more force than strictly necessary. The way his muscles strain with every movement still feels deeply unsettling, incredibly wrong. 

If his bones wanted to fail him and rearrange themselves in a different shape, he would rather prolong the inevitable for as long as possible. At least as much as he can. However, the knowledge that his fate has already been decided has brought a strange urgency with it. A quick look towards his neatly arranged materials on the table by the window confirms what he already knows. An assortment of precious stones, among them rubies, sapphires and heliodor and roughly thirty-three troy ounces of gold, forty-seven of silver and twelve of platinum to set them in. Enough to produce approximately ninety pieces of protective accessories for those putting their lives at risk. That is, if he has enough time to finish them before his body fails him completely.

Dino barks out another bitter laugh, puts the finished bracelet aside and reaches for silver and amethyst before he uses his left hand to wrap the uncooperative fingers of his right around the thin handle of his favourite engraving tool. It is time to accept that the impeccable quality of his work is a thing of the past, at least in terms of beauty. The filigree details he liked to decorate his jewelry with are no longer possible. It makes his heart bleed a little, but his pieces will still do their intended job and that is what counts. No time for the tenacious perfectionism he is known for. Not when the slow burn of the poison in his blood is relentlessly chipping away at everything that makes him who he is. Or was? 

If he looked into a mirror, Dino knows he would see deep lines marring his face and how dappled his hair looks by now. The poisonous acid disintegrates the silver dye more with each day, the only vanity he has allowed himself besides his fancy shoes. Already, his natural reddish-brown, the colour bleached out and weak, is shining through at his roots, a sad imitation of itself even though his hair finally matches his eyebrows now. As if his body could not keep the illusion of health and vitality up anymore. As if he were already fading.

Which he is. The uncomfortable, pitying looks the hunters, who brought their latest delivery of provisions from Lestallum’s greenhouses, shared did not escape him. He is turning into his own and _everyone’s_ nightmare, little by little each day, he is not blind. And he does not want the pity. It does nothing to quell the anger, the fear, the crippling feeling of helplessness. The desperate will to live in the face of a horrible, painful death. 

The muscles in his left arm holding the pliers convulse painfully and without warning. His breath escapes in a hiss as both of his tools clatter to the floor and his right hand closes around his spasming arm in a tight, bruising grip. Holding the hurting limb to his chest, posture almost hunched protectively forward, it takes a while before the spasms ease off and his breathing evens out. The shrill ring of his cell phone finally startles Dino out of his motionlessness. " _Fuck_ , where did I leave the….ah." 

Stiff fingers fumble with the tiny device before he manages to accept the call, already knowing who it is without reading the name on the cracked display.

"Ostium."

"Ghiranze." The Glaive Captain's voice sounds exactly how Dino feels, a bone deep exhaustion saturating every word. "We need a new batch of accessories. Lost a group of hunters near the Vesperpool yesterday and we can’t retrieve their bodies." _Or their gear._ A month ago, Dino would have winced at the terrible news. Today, all he feels is vague sympathy. "I know you're doing what you can, but…"

Ostium trails off and gives way for a moment of uncomfortable, ringing silence.

"But I'm a dead man walking is what you were going to say." Dino finishes the sentence, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice entirely.

"...Yes. Listen, Ghiranze, I'm s-..."

"Don't." Dino interrupts the other man, the tightness in his voice betraying the lump in his throat. He does not want pity, it won't change anything, for Astrals' sake. "You’ll get your accessories. Send someone in...let's say five days. They'll find a box next to the gas pump."

Ambitious, five days, but it is not as if he needs much sleep anymore despite his exhaustion. If he were not so afraid to not wake up anymore, Dino feels as if he could sleep for a year at least. However, he knows that it is more mental than physical exhaustion at this point. Nothing he can do about it except ignoring it. 

"Fine. Thank you, Ghiranze. For your servi-"

"I am not one of your Glaives." Dino bites out more harshly than intended. _Why won’t people stop treating me as if I died already?!_ He swallows to distract himself from the angry tears burning in his eyes, then jolts at the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and the sensation of it sliding down his throat for the second time that day. _Won't be long now._ The realisation drains the fight out of him and he sighs, feeling utterly defeated. "Goodbye, Ostium. See you on the other side."

Without waiting for a reply, Dino hangs up and stares off into space for a while, unable to shake off the odd feelings the conversation evoked in him. When he comes to, his eyes are still burning with unshed tears, but his motions are relatively sure as he reaches for the tools he dropped right before Ostium called. 

There is much work to do.

* * *

Once upon a time, the impending sunrise would have painted the sky and sea a beautiful, warm rose at this time of the day, a sight which always brought Dino great joy. Today, only the moon, pale and partly hidden behind the dark clouds, heavy with vaporised miasma, bears witness as his exhausted body leans against the backrest of his favourite waterside bench for support, his breath slowing down to a rasping wheeze. Except for the sound of a car engine being turned off in the distance and his laboured breathing, no sound but the gentle murmur of the waves disturbs the unnatural silence. Black spots dance in the corners of his eyes and his body feels strangely light, not his own anymore, but after the past weeks’ hell, this is almost...nice. Peaceful.

A few more slow, shallow breaths, a shudder. The stench of miasma fills the air as Dino’s vision goes dark.

* * *

* * *


End file.
